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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24614728">I want you to notice / when I'm not around</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/queermccoy/pseuds/queermccoy'>queermccoy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1990s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Blow Jobs, Competition, Foot Jobs, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Hand Jobs, House Party, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Ben Hanscom - Freeform, Misogyny, Party Games, Penis Measuring, Semi-Public Sex, Swordfighting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:40:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24614728</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/queermccoy/pseuds/queermccoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The thing that only Richie Tozier seems to know about Eddie Kaspbrak is that he is an absolute nightmare. He looks so pressed and neat to the casual viewer, but Richie knows that he lives in a pile of his own dirty clothes, wipes Cheeto dust off on his shirt, and leaves his filthy jerk off tissues balled up at the top of the trash. Richie, who has never pretended to be tidy or morally upright, wants to steal them and look at them in the privacy of his own room like a dragon hoarding gold, if gold is his buddy’s wadded up jizz tissues.</i>
</p><p>or, Eddie and Richie are measuring dicks but there's a history.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>254</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I want you to notice / when I'm not around</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestbreak/gifts">tempestbreak</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is for Katie. I love you, happy belated birthday by a lot. She asked for sword fighting and got that and so much more than she bargained for. </p><p><b>Content Warnings:</b> accidental sex, a slightly dubcon blowjob (not really, consent was asked for a given but both parties are drunk), drunk sex, college parties, internalized homophobia, Richie's whole self, the phrase "like a girl," trash, Richie's foot fetish, Richie thinks he's taking advantage of Eddie who is actually taking advantage of Richie but also not because internalized homophobia and like, those intricate rituals. A lot of talk about shame. It's not darkfic, they're just stupid.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing that only Richie Tozier seems to know about Eddie Kaspbrak is that he is an absolute nightmare. He looks so pressed and neat to the casual viewer, but Richie knows that he lives in a pile of his own dirty clothes, wipes Cheeto dust off on his shirt, and leaves his filthy jerk off tissues balled up at the top of the trash. Richie, who has never pretended to be tidy or morally upright, wants to steal them and look at them in the privacy of his own room like a dragon hoarding gold, if gold is his buddy’s wadded up jizz tissues. </p><p>And they are buddies, Richie and Eddie. They’ve come a long way since the first day they met, when Eddie spent hours with him at a party and then Eddie forgot his name minutes before they-- well when they were in line for the bathroom. </p><p>That was the same night they met Mike and Stan too, also in line for the bathroom at a party Richie hadn’t been invited to. He thinks about that night a lot, usually when he’s alone. But sometimes during the day, when he’s feeling brave. </p><p>*</p><p>They’d been outside of the bathroom, a line running down the length of the wall upstairs in a shitty frat house on the outskirts of campus. Three girls in spaghetti strap sundresses over long sleeve shirts were smoking cigarettes next to the door, and next to them were two guys in beautiful sweaters, holding beers. Eddie had steered Richie forward and shoved him into the wall next to the shorter of the two men. It was quieter over by the bathroom than it was throughout the rest of the house, and Richie could hear his own thoughts again.</p><p>“Stay,” Eddie had said. Richie thumped his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His mouth was so dry, he remembers. Everything about Eddie makes his mouth dry, still. At the party, he wasn’t able to relax his arms fully, or he’d lose the game he was playing, beer spilling all over the floor. He’d been tense, back tight, over the game, over Eddie. </p><p>“Sit, stay, don’t piss on the carpet,” Richie had said. It didn’t have the cadence of a joke, but the shorter guy ahead of them in line laughed. He had on a dark blue waffle knit sweater with a tan and black geometric pattern and tan khakis. He was about the same height as Eddie, actually, and he had dark curls that hung over his forehead. He looked like a Renaissance painting or one of those statues that’s supposed to be a girl but definitely used a dude for a model. </p><p>Stan still looks like that, an ethereal beauty that sometimes takes Richie’s breath away. But then he’ll say something boring about math and that gives his breath right back. </p><p>“Painting,” Richie told him, staring down at him, before he knew about all the math. The guy quirked an eyebrow. Behind him, his friend chuckled. </p><p>The laughing guy was tall, taller than Richie, and wearing a soft looking purple and blue sweater with a zig zag pattern. His shoulders were broad and he looked rock solid, like the trunk of an ancient pine. He wanted to climb that tree, maybe. Mike was so hot, when they met. He’s so hot now, too. Mike and Stan and Eddie were all so hot. Richie had been surrounded by hot guys that whole night and he couldn’t enjoy it because he had to pee so bad he couldn’t think. </p><p>Eddie had made a strangled noise in his throat. Richie glanced over and saw Eddie roll his eyes. </p><p>When Eddie rolls his eyes, he does it with his whole body. His torso bends to the side and backwards, his chin tips up and exposes his neck. Richie had wanted to bury his face in it. Wanted to run his dick over it. Glancing over at Eddie now, he sort of still wants to. </p><p>“What <i>are</i> you doing?” Stan had asked, gesturing at Richie’s predicament with one long, elegant hand. He was referring to the party game he and Eddie were playing and pointing to the two 40 oz glass bottles of Natty Light duct taped to Richie’s hands. </p><p>“Call me Edward Fortyhands,” Richie had said, grinning rakishly. “I would shake your hand but, well!” </p><p>“Is that fun?” Mike had asked, sounding genuinely curious. Richie nodded, because it had been. He could feel the pinch of the duct tape against the skin on the back of his hands and the pull of the hair on his wrists stuck in the adhesive. It was worth it though, to be the life of the party.</p><p>“Okay well, Edward,” Mike had continued. “I’m Mike and this is Stan.” He gestured to himself then to Stan. </p><p>“Stanley,” Stan had corrected. “To you.” </p><p>Eddie snorted. “In that case, I’m Edward and this is—” he’d furrowed his brow and squinted at Richie. “What the fuck is your name again?” </p><p>Richie had tried not to be drunkenly devastated, tried not to sound disappointed when he said, “Richie!” </p><p>“And this is Richie,” Eddie told Mike and Stan with all the authority of an old friend, refusing to acknowledge that there was something he didn’t know. Richie waved his elbow, beer once again sloshing and reminding him that he had to pee. </p><p>*</p><p>“Stop looking at my trash,” Eddie demands, pulling on Richie’s shoulders to get his attention. He’d been zoning out. </p><p>Eddie’s sitting at his school issued desk, hunched over Richie’s Game Boy, crinkled family sized bag of Doritos in his lap. He looks so handsome in the golden rays of late evening sun spilling in through Eddie’s open dorm room window. His open curtains fluttering in the light breeze coming in from the crack they’d made to help air out the smell of old socks and the pizza box tucked between the wall and Bill’s trash can. Eddie’s glaring at Richie for sitting on his desk, feet propped up on the end of his bed. Richie doesn’t know if he’s annoyed because Richie’s shoes are on his sheets or because he’s sitting on his organic chemistry textbook. </p><p>Richie looks around the room, at the basket of clean clothes in the closet and the basket of dirty clothes overflowing in the corner. He’s been living with Bill Denbrough for a couple of years, since Freshman orientation, and Richie has never gotten used to the fact that Eddie’s side of the room is dirtier than Bill’s. Bill is just a dude, totally normal. Eddie seems like he would be an insane clean freak, like Stan but weirder about it. Turns out, his expectations of cleanliness applies only to other people. </p><p>“It’s pretty gross, dude,” Richie tells him, leaning until his back hits the wall. Eddie sighs, annoyed, and presses down on the A button too hard. </p><p>“So don’t fucking look at it!” Eddie snaps. He leans back in his chair and flings his socked feet in Richie’s lap. Richie stills, all the air in his lungs leaking out. He is unable to think and unable to breathe. He sneaks a peak at Eddie in his periphery and sees him mashing buttons with his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. It’s pink and wet and Richie can see his taste buds, wants to feel them with his fingertips, wants to lick them with his tongue. He needs to shift his body, but can’t with Eddie’s feet in his lap. He looks away, up at the water stained ceiling. One of the stains in the corner of the room above Bill’s bed looks like Antarctica. </p><p>“That looks like Antarctica,” Richie says, pointing to it. When Eddie glances up, Richie bends forward to steal Eddie’s bag of Doritos from his lap. Eddie’s big toe nudges at Richie’s hard right nipple, sending a nasty thrill up his spine that settles in the hollow of his stomach and lingers there. By the time Eddie turns back around, Richie is smirking around a nacho cheese flavored corn chip.</p><p>“Wow, fuck you.” Eddie digs the heel of one of his feet blindly in retaliation and Richie laughs to cover up the way the curve of Eddie’s foot nudges his cock through his blue jeans. He scoots further back so Eddie’s feet rest above his knees and are not playing friendly neighbors with Richie’s dick anymore. </p><p>“No, fuck you!” Richie crunches obnoxiously, chewing with his mouth open just to see the look on Eddie’s face when he does it. And boy does he deliver! Eddie’s nose scrunches and his eyebrows pull together, eyes narrowed into upset slits. Something about the way he does this makes the freckles on his nose stand out, bold and beautiful on his skin. Richie loves to see them shine, has loved it ever since the first time they met. </p><p>*</p><p>That night, Richie had actually met Bev first and Eddie second. He’d only talked to Bev, or Bombshell as Richie’s mind helpfully supplied until he learned her name, because she had been in deep conversation with Eddie before Richie had sauntered over. Leaning into Bev, talking to her, helped quell the panic pulling down his arms over being seen as too keen to talk to this one boy in particular. Plausible deniability. </p><p>Bev was a smoke show. In freshman year, she had straight red hair falling to just under her chin, moving with her like a fine beaded curtain. That night she was wearing a black top with thin straps and an over-large navy and deep forest green plaid flannel, buttoned up halfway and falling down her back. Her arms went through the sleeves, but the low resting collar exposed her shoulders and upper arms. She was absolutely not wearing a bra. </p><p>Bev Marsh had introduced herself with her first and last names. Richie had returned the favor, telling her his own name in a passable English accent while bowing, “Richard W. Tozier, Esquire.”</p><p>Bev had laughed, but Eddie had frowned and said, “Esquire means lawyer, so either you’re a liar or you’re the youngest lawyer who ever lived.” </p><p>“I graduated from Maine Law with a 4.0 and high honors, and I’ve defended the most dangerous criminal ever to turn their evil, lusting eye on the State of Maine,” Richie had said and flipped his hand at the wrist. The other boy exhaled harshly, like a cartoon bull. </p><p>Short and angry said, “Yeah, and who’s that?” </p><p>“Your mom,” Richie simpered. “She stole my heart.” </p><p>“Wow! Fuck you, man,” he’d replied. Bev placed a hand on his shoulder and introduced him to Richie, ignoring his glare, as “Eddie.” </p><p>Eddie had shifted and turned his hard stare from Bev to Richie, scowling at the audacity of him. Maybe at the existence of him. </p><p>*</p><p>Eddie has been the absolute apple of Richie’s eye ever since. He thought, for a couple of minutes the night of that party that maybe, just maybe, Eddie could feel the same way. He was wrong though, because Eddie is straight and almost more importantly, he thinks Richie is too. Eddie would never sit with his feet in a gay guy’s lap. They wouldn’t be allowed to be close like this. Richie wouldn’t have such a close up of his feet, clad in white tube socks with two deep, wine red stripes at the top where they rest on his calves. If Richie keeps looking up up up Eddie’s legs he can see the blonde hairs that disappear into Eddie’s little exercise shorts he swears up and down are for running, but Richie’s never seen him do it. He usually wears a pair of tighter nylon shorts underneath for drag or something, Richie has no idea. All he knows is that Eddie looks fucking good in shorts and if he shifts just a little more in his seat, Richie thinks maybe he’d be able to see down the legs of them. Something nice for this spank bank, which is mostly Eddie, but also every guy who has ever been mean to him, his high school history teacher included.</p><p>Richie looks down and wants to run his index finger up the underside of Eddie’s foot, dirt stains be damned. He wants to bury his nose in the woven cotton of his socks, press his face into the arch of his foot, hands wrapped around the delicate bones of Eddie’s ankle. He keeps them covered, generally, and Richie wants to pull the sock down until he can see the nub of his ankle. He often wakes up in a warm pool of simmering low grade arousal thinking about Eddie’s ankles, catching a glimpse of them like Eddie is a Victorian maiden and Richie is a lecherous admirer. When it gets to be too much, when he can’t stand to look at Eddie’s feet or his face or his legs attached to his body, he shoves a fist full of chips in his mouth. </p><p>He sticks his tongue out, masticated Dorito settled in the middle where he’s made a bowl out of the folds. He feels the universe upset itself and settle back down, Eddie kicking his leg again and it feels even more solid. </p><p>Richie grins, delighted by the outrage radiating out of Eddie’s entire body, starting in his bones and spreading out. Richie falls back into the wall and munches mindlessly on his pilfered snack, glancing down every once in a while to check on Eddie’s progress in the game. His concentration face is adorable and a little scary. Richie thinks back to the first time he ever saw it and shudders. </p><p>There are, thankfully, more stains on the ceiling for Richie to inspect, eyes trained up and away from the hottest boy he’s ever known. Fuck. </p><p>There’s a stain that looks like a dick. It literally looks like a penis, cock and balls both. There’s a slit on the mushroom tip, even. Richie wonders why he’s never noticed it before, wonders if it’s new. It’s got to be. Or maybe he’s just got cock on the brain, his and Eddie’s.</p><p>“That one looks like a denim python,” Richie says, flicking a Dorito at Eddie’s face. It bounces off of his cheek and lands on his crisp white shirt. Richie points above their heads.</p><p>Eddie glares at him and shoves the chip between his thin lips. “What are you talking about?” He asks, chewing with his mouth open. </p><p>“The ole trombone and meatballs, a sticky grenade, a Bavarian beefstick, a one-eyed hip snake, a jizz stic—” Eddie interrupts him with a frustrated groan, reaching across the desk for a pen to lob at Richie’s head. It smacks him in the face, right in the middle of his forehead before landing back on Eddie’s desk like nothing happened at all. </p><p>Richie rubs his forehead and continues, “There’s a dick on your ceiling. Look!” </p><p>“I’m looking at a dick right now,” Eddie says, glancing at Richie over the top of the Game Boy. </p><p>“It’s almost as long as my wang,” Richie tells him, inciting him to follow his pointed finger and look at the water stain penis. Eddie keeps his eyes his game and says without looking back up:</p><p>“Your dick is average sized.” </p><p>Richie blinks. He fiddles with his glasses and then blinks again. </p><p>“My dick is bigger than yours,” he reasons. He doesn’t know this factually but he always assumed. He’s spent so many hours thinking about Eddie and Eddie’s dick, trying to suss out the size and shape of it through those tiny running shorts, that he feels confident in his deduction. </p><p>“No,” Eddie says, still not looking up. He bites his lip and smashes down the A button again. “It’s really not.” </p><p>Richie’s neck burns. For all that Eddie is a dickhead, he doesn’t dismiss Richie, really. Of all of their pals, Ben included, Eddie is the only one who listens to every insane or terrible thing Richie says. This is new. He clenches his fists, both of them, until his knuckles are bone white. </p><p>“How would you know?” He asks, because he’s an asshole. Eddie does look up at that, his big brown eyes squinted into pointed slits. When he doesn’t say anything, Richie marches on, heedless of the consequences, “Tell me how you know your dick is bigger than mine.” </p><p>Eddie’s face is blank, completely fucking blank, when he says, “You know how.” </p><p>And Richie does. He does know how. </p><p>*</p><p>Richie had needed to pee. </p><p>“Come on, Tozier,” Bev had laughed, pushing at his shoulder with the heel of her hand. He laughed too, because he was definitely drunk and he’ll laugh at anything when he’s drunk. The bottles strapped to his wrists were both half empty, and before that he’d had four drinks. Three. Maybe five? He’d had some drinks. </p><p>Bev was laughing at him when she said, “You’re so slow!” Richie gestured at her with one of his beer hands, the liquid inside sloshing loudly and fizzing. </p><p>“You try—” Richie hiccuped, “You try doing this, Marsh! You couldn’t. You’re too little.” </p><p>She had squawked, offended. She hit his shoulder again and he giggled. </p><p>Eddie, appearing in his field of vision suddenly, had snapped his fingers in Richie’s face. Eddie was frowning and Richie wished he wasn’t. He’s got such a cute smirk, such a cute mouth to go with his cute nose, something Richie recognized about him the second he caught sight of him from across the room.</p><p>“Focus!” He’d barked, and it gave Richie goosebumps. He had clapped his hands together, inches from Richie’s face and it startled him. “Keep your head in the game!” </p><p>“Keep your shirt on, Jesus,” Richie had laughed again. He brought his left hand up and drank from the bottle taped there. The sound of beer splashing back into the bottom of the glass reminded him that he had to use the bathroom. Fuck. </p><p>“Eddie,” he’d said. “Eddie. I have to, you know,” he gestured awkwardly down at his groin and pumped his hips. “I gotta drain the sea monster.” </p><p>Eddie had wrinkled his cute nose. “Ack! Gross!” </p><p>Richie had grinned so wide he felt his face creak, the corners of his mouth aching. Eddie might kill him, with his freckles dusted across his nose and his cheeks and down his neck. They still stand out against the deep lines of his face. Richie’s looking at them now, in the sepia tone of his dorm room, Eddie’s face hard. </p><p>“You gunna help me or not?” Richie had asked and Bev backed him up saying, “You did agree to be his buddy, Eddie!” </p><p>This was true. A girl Richie hadn’t known, and never saw again, showed up holding the Natty Light with a roll of duct tape around her wrist like a bracelet. She’d asked Eddie if he wanted to play a game. She was short, taller than Bev but still pretty small, with dark curly hair wrapped in a bun on the top of her head. She leaned in close, her sheer shirt shimmering in the low light of the room, catching on the silky material of her bra under her shirt. Richie hadn’t meant to look, but the sateen was bright and red. </p><p>“It’ll be fun,” she’d promised, wiggling one of the bottles in Eddie’s face. He had pursed his lips, obviously skeptical, and shaken his head. He backed away from her and into Richie’s chest. </p><p>Richie’s hands had come up to grip his shoulders and push him aside. He’d smiled at the girl and declared in a southern accent, “Might I offer my services to the young lady?” </p><p>She glanced at him, eyes sliding off of Eddie reluctantly. “Sure,” she’d shrugged. She had explained the challenge while duct taping the bottles to Richie’s hands and uncapping the beers. Richie had almost dumped them out before she was even done, because of who he is as a person. Eddie had grabbed his wrists just in time, and Bev laughed at them both. </p><p>“You need a buddy,” the stranger with the beers had told Richie. He’d needed someone to be his hands while he finished the 40s. She’d slid the tape back over her hand and up her arm like a bangle. The girl had settled her hand on her hip and turned to Bev expectantly, eyebrows raised. </p><p>“I’ll do it,” Eddie had said quickly. He pushed Richie back, into the wall, and blocked him from the view of the girl. Richie looked down at him, remembers looking down at him, and his eyes were so big and brown and angry almost. Richie remembers wondering what he had to be so angry about. </p><p>“Have fun!” She’d called out, giving Richie a lazy salute. “And good luck.” She’d addressed the last part to Eddie, who didn’t look back at her. He kept his eyes on Richie, watching him. Richie had been a bug in between glass slides.</p><p>The endless, gaping <i>something</i> that had been building up the space between their bodies was thrumming. Eddie had leaned into him, Richie’s arms not around him but held out, giving him the space to curl into him, get up on him, do anything he wanted to. And he had. Eddie had pushed himself into Richie’s space and looked up at him through his lashes, not touching but not… not touching. It had felt transcendental. Sublime, exalted. </p><p>This ended when Bev had leaned between them and said, conspiratorially, “Aren’t you supposed to drink those, Superstar?” </p><p>In response, he’d leaned into Eddie to get closer to Bev. He’d maintained eye contact while drinking deeply from the bottle taped to his right hand. It’d been harder, when the bottles were fuller, to lift them gracefully up to his face. When they’d gotten emptier, well, the liquid had needed to go somewhere. </p><p>“Yeah, come hold my dick for me, buddy,” Richie had laughed. He’d wished he hadn’t said it, but the shocked and horrified expression on Eddie’s face had made it worth it. It’s always worth it. </p><p>Bev had been tipped backwards, full belly laughing, pointing at Richie with one hand and wiping at her eyes with the other. “This guy,” she’d gasped. “Eddie, I love him.” </p><p>“If you love him so much, why don’t you marry him?” Eddie had grumbled, pushing her out of way and grabbing Richie’s arm. He’d stumbled, and Richie recalled the two, maybe three shots he’d seen Eddie knock back since they’d started hanging out. He’d been nursing a couple of beers too. </p><p>“Come on, you oaf!” he’d said, ignoring the eye roll from Bev and frog marching Richie away from their corner of the room and into the din.  </p><p>The party had been huge. It had been massive. Everyone was pressed together tight like sardines in a little can, limbs and hands flying. Someone Richie hadn’t known had shouted encouragement at him and he’d shouted back his thanks. Other people had turned to look, and he’d hammed it up, like he always does, holding his fortyhands above his head and wiggling his body, grinning wide and earnest. </p><p>Eddie had walked behind him, steady hand on his shoulder. He’d been guiding him through the crowd. Other hands had patted his back or his arms, his ass, but Eddie’s grip on Richie was ironclad. There’s nothing Richie loves more than being the center of attention. At this party he'd been floating, he’d been flying high, but Eddie’s sharp fingers digging into the fleshy part of his shoulder had felt better than that though. It had felt better than anything. </p><p>There’d been smoke in the air. It had smelled like weed and cigarettes and like burning plastic and wood. Richie had thought there might be a fire outside. That would have been cool. </p><p>In line for the bathroom, standing with Stan and Mike, Mike had asked if they were having a good time playing the game. “It’s a nightmare,” Eddie had told them, pointing at Richie with his other hand curled into a fist, resting on his hip. “He can’t pee on his own.” </p><p>“I have a personal dick holder, like a fancy rich person,” Richie had told his new friends proudly. He’d smiled when he saw the pinched expression of Eddie’s face. He’d been riling him up for hours at that point, but he hadn’t left yet. </p><p>“Rich people can still hold their own dicks, jackass!” Eddie had exclaimed, hands flapping around wildly. Richie hadn’t known what he’s like sober, but he has been pleased over the years to find that he is just as animated as he is when he’s drunk. That’s the word he always uses to describe this kid. Animated. He had wanted to tell him that, but instead, when he’d opened his mouth, a giggle slipped out. </p><p>*</p><p>“Show me,” he says, blinking away the memory from before-- before the bathroom. Blinking away the hope and the crushing weight of reality. He takes a deep breath. </p><p>This isn’t gay. It’s not gay to ask another boy to prove his dick is bigger than yours. It’s macho man stuff, totally normal and completely above board. Richie tells himself this and carefully does not think. At all.</p><p>Eddie snorts and says, almost combatively, “That’s pretty gay, dude.” </p><p>Richie doesn’t reply, but he does plaster a shit eating grin on his face and wiggle his eyebrows at the general direction of Eddie’s cock, tucked away safely in his clothes. He tries not to let on that his mouth is so wet, let on that he can feel the spit collecting behind his teeth. </p><p>Rolling his eyes, with his whole body, the way he always does, Eddie sets the Game Boy down on his desk and pulls his feet out of Richie’s lap. He sets them gently on the floor and Richie thinks, before he can stop himself, that he wishes the floor was his face. </p><p>Eddie stands and slides his thumbs under the elastic waistband of his shorts. Richie hopes that maybe he’s about to be treated to a strip tease he’ll get to guiltily jerk off to for years to come, but instead, Eddie shoves the fabric down like ripping off a band aid. He isn’t wearing underwear and now he’s barely wearing his shorts. They’re bunched up by his knees, his beautiful, scuffed up knees. Richie swallows all of the spit collected at the back of his tongue. </p><p>Nestled in Eddie’s bush, and it is a hell of a bush, a thicket of dark curly hairs, really, is a little bird of a cock. Richie smiles, all teeth, and raises his eyebrows pointedly at Eddie. It’s not what he wants to do, which is to stroke it to hardness and put it in his freshly salivating mouth. It’s sweet, just like he always imagined. Instead of doing any of that, he lets out a low, unimpressed whistle. </p><p>“Shut up! I’m a— I’m a grower, not a shower!” Eddie snaps, arms crossed over his chest. His face is in its full furious glory, eyes blazing. Richie smirks.</p><p>“Fuck you, I’ll show you,” Eddie says and Richie’s heart stop beating in his chest. </p><p>“What?” He asks, dumb. Eddie’s already sitting back at his desk chair, bare ass on the cheap wooden seat, hand around his little cock. His eyes are closed and his head is thrown back. What the fuck.</p><p>“What the fuck—!” </p><p>Eddie pulls his hand up his cock, skin sliding under his fingers. He’s already thicker, already longer. He opens one eye and peeks at Richie through the slit. “Well,” he implores, “What are you waiting for?” </p><p>Richie rushes, hands at his belt before he even knows what he’s doing. He unbuckles and slides his jeans down his legs, swinging them so they hang off the side of Eddie’s desk. They are so much closer this way, almost touching. All of the air in his lungs punches out of his chest. His body feels numb, hands moving like they belong to someone else with someone else’s brain. </p><p>He is sitting with his whole ass out on Eddie’s organic chemistry book, rapidly hardening cock trapped in the vice made by his fist. Richie desperately tries not to look at Eddie, tries so hard, but he’s only a man and not one possessing a super human level of restraint, so. He looks. Richie casts his hungry eyes on Eddie Kaspbrak fucking into his own hand, hips thrusting and throat working. No noise spills out of his heaving body, and Richie thinks maybe that what keeps this from being gay. </p><p>Eddie’s cock is so much bigger than it was mere moments ago, filling the space between his fingers. It’s wet, so wet, so much wetter than Richie ever imagined, and he watches Eddie run his hand over the head of it to collect the precome leaking out of his cute slit and use it as lube. Richie looks down at his own sticky wet cock and does the same. </p><p>“Okay,” Eddie says, “Okay, this is it.” </p><p>“This is what?” Richie asks, distracted by how good he feels, how sick he feels. Eddie slaps his leg, his clothed calf, and makes a disgruntled noise that makes Richie harder, somehow. He looks over at Eddie, at his flushed cheeks hiding his freckles and spreading down his neck. He’s beat fucking red and Richie wants to pull up his shirt and see how far it goes. </p><p>“My dick is bigger than yours!” Eddie crows, triumphant. Richie blinks. He forgot what they were doing here, forgot the point of this in the wake of Eddie, Eddie with his blush and his hands and his eyes. Eddie who is smiling like the cat who got the canary, holding his cock in one hand and gesturing to it grandly with the other. </p><p>Eddie’s not wrong. His dick is bigger than Richie’s. It’s about the same thickness, but longer by an inch at least. Maybe more. It looks insane coming out of Eddie’s compact body. God, Richie thinks, what was all this height for, the growing pains and stretch marks and the way his pants were always too short, if he doesn’t even have the biggest cock in any given room. </p><p>Any room not containing Mike Hanlon, anyway. Richie made his peace with that years ago when he’d seen Mike’s dick through the opening of his boxers on accident during a sleepover when the button came undone without him noticing. It was a hard truth, but he has accepted it. Mike is a beautiful, genial tree who has always been kind to Richie, going all the way back to the night that they met, and Richie refuses to let his jealousy over his huge dick get in the way of their friendship. </p><p>*</p><p>After all three of the girls had disappeared into the bathroom at the same time, Mike had said, “You can go ahead of us.” He’d poked Richie’s shoulder to get his attention. He’d been amused, lips quirked and eyebrows high up on his forehead. “You look like you’re about to burst.” </p><p>“God, thank you! His pee dance is driving me nuts,” Eddie had exclaimed, hooking his thumb back at Richie.</p><p>Richie had looked over at the other boy and his eyes lingered on his legs, the blond hairs there disappearing into his socks. Eddie had been talking to Stan and Mike about… something, Richie didn’t know. His thoughts had felt like water on a duck's back. They’d appeared and then slid away, which had left him feeling vaguely damp. He’d licked his lips and brought his right hand up for something to wet his whistle. His mouth had been dry again and he’d chugged this time, head falling back against the wall. </p><p>“Aw Eddie, if you wanted to dance, all you had to do was ask!” He’d said when he’d finished drinking. He’d lunged forward and slammed his arm around Eddie’s neck, 40 tilted precariously towards the floor. He’d brought his other arm up and ruffled his hair with his wrist, since his hand was full. </p><p>Eddie had cursed up a storm, which made Mike laugh and Stan’s mouth twitch. Richie had grinned at them over the top of Eddie’s bent head. He’d tightened his hold on Eddie and wasn’t surprised when he started trying to wrestle himself out of Richie’s awkward arms. Eddie’s smaller than Richie, has always been stronger, so he’d elbowed his way out of Richie’s grasp, but not before brushing up against his dick in his jeans, aching and sensitive with the need building in his bladder. Richie had hid his groan in an overly dramatic, “Ouch!” which included an elaborate stumble back into the wall. </p><p>“What the fuck, dipshit!” Eddie had still been yelling at him, and maybe if Richie hadn’t been so drunk he’d have had better defenses against the sound of Eddie’s raised voice but as it was, he’d felt helpless and just basked in it, turning his face towards it, like he was sunbathing. He’d even closed his eyes. </p><p>“You literally have glass taped to your hands! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to horse around with—” his tirade had been cut short when the bathroom door opened and the three girls fell out, one of them still pulling the back down on her dress. A second girl had smiled at Richie and the boys when she passed, but Richie still caught the third and final girl rubbing delicately at her nose with fingers capped in long red press-on nails. </p><p>“I’ll show you a horse,” Richie had said, gyrating his hips at Eddie and meaning his dick. I’ll show you a horse dick, he’d thought and looking back, he still thinks it’s funny. There had been a frantic buzz under his skin. The bathroom was finally empty and so was Richie’s head. His mouth had been too, even though he wanted to put Eddie’s tits in there to fill it up instead. He kept noticing Eddie’s nipples through his shirt where the white cotton was a little thin and every time he’d caught a glimpse he felt like someone had dumped his brain in the trash. </p><p>“You’re up, Mr. Fortyhands,” Mike had laughed. He’d gestured to the bathroom, sweeping his arm from his shoulder almost to the floor with a bow. Eddie’d pulled him away from the wall with those sharp fingers of his and pushed him roughly towards the bathroom. Richie had turned to look back at Mike and Stan, the former giving him an encouraging thumbs up and the latter frowning at Eddie. </p><p>“I like you,” Richie told Mike, and he’s glad he did because Mike is one of the best people he knows. He had wanted to say it to Stan too, but he didn't get to because he was suddenly alone in the bathroom with Eddie. </p><p>It had honestly been pretty gross, mold on the ceiling over the shower, a pile of wrinkled towels on the floor. There’d been a stack of beer bottles and empty red Solo cups dumped on the floor in the corner. Eddie’s nose had wrinkled like it did when Richie told a dirty joke and he’d thought he loved this disgusting bathroom more than any other room he had ever been in, if it could make Eddie’s freckles stand out on his cheeks like that. </p><p>Eddie jerked him into position over the toilet, had kicked his feet far enough apart that Richie could stand solidly upright. He’d held his breath while Eddie hurriedly unbuttoned his jeans. They weren’t tight pants, not like Eddie’s shorts, so just unbuttoning them had them falling a little down his hips. </p><p>“It’s okay,” Eddie had said in a softer tone than Richie had heard all night. He was next to Richie and looked up at his face while he dragged the zipper down, slow this time. He’d licked his lips. Richie blinked, but Eddie had still been there, had still been looking at him like that. </p><p>“Fuck, okay,” Richie had said, absentmindedly. He’d wanted to squeeze his legs together. He’d wanted to piss already. He’d felt like he was going to die. That has always been, and will likely remain, the weirdest boner he has ever had. </p><p>Zipper down, Eddie had shimmied Richie’s pants down. He’d unbuttoned Richie’s boxers and slipped the little plastic button through the loop, his knuckles brushing Richie’s dick <i>again</i>. Eddie had slid his hand in and pulled out Richie’s cock with deft fingers. It was framed in the red and green plaid Christmas boxers he’d only worn because he had been sure no one would see them. </p><p>He still doesn’t understand why Eddie hadn’t just pulled Richie’s underwear down, why he went ahead and shoved his hand into the hole of his boxers and threaded his dick back out like floss through the eye of a needle. He hadn’t needed to do that, but he did. Richie’s shoulders were ramrod straight and painfully tight. He’d been coiled and ready to spring. </p><p>“Not really as big as a horse, huh?” Eddie had said, interrupting Richie’s thoughts and glancing up at him through his eyelashes. A dirty trick, as far as Richie had been concerned. </p><p>He’d laughed, shaky, and said, “You look at a lot of horse cock, man?” </p><p>Eddie had turned bright red and sputtered. He lurched away from Richie and said through gritted teeth, “Fuck off, no I don’t!” </p><p>Richie had crowed in response, his laughter, when he thinks back on it, was a little meaner sounding than it usually is. Eddie had seemed unperturbed by it and preoccupied with what a disgusting degenerate Richie was. The disgusting degenerate he is. </p><p>“See if I hold your dick now, prick,” he’d sulked, arms crossed over his chest. The fabric over his shoulders had stretched and pulled, showing off how delicate and fine boned Eddie was, really, under his clothes. Richie’s eyes caught and had lingered on his wrists, his neck, still flushed. He’d wanted that guy to bend him in half. This isn't a thought that has faded with time. </p><p>Even now, with Eddie’s eyes hard and his face impassive, Richie shouts, rail me, loudly in his own mind.  </p><p>“I’m good, I think,” Richie had said, pushing his dick down with his wrist, tilting it toward the bowl. Eddie had turned around to face the door, when Richie looked over again. He’d had his shoulders up by his ears and that pulled and stretched his shirt in another way, up his body. His waist had been highlighted and Richie wanted to wrap his hands around it. </p><p>Turning back to the toilet, Richie had pissed and he wondered if this is what it felt like to find god. His eyes had rolled up into his skull. When he was finished, he’d wiggled his hips to shake off. He’d lifted away from his dick and leaned forward to hit the handle with his elbow. </p><p>“Tuck me in, daddy,” he’d said. “I’m ready for bed.” </p><p>“You are insufferable,” Eddie had replied, turning around. Richie was facing him already, so he saw Eddie’s red cheeks, his eyes glittering in the low light of that tiny, terrible bathroom. </p><p>The air had felt different after that. Richie had felt different. Heady, thick, and full in a way he hadn’t earlier. There was a charge in the atmosphere, the night sky before a rolling thunderstorm or wet sand when a wave pulls back into the ocean, only to crash back into the shore. Eddie, standing by the door, had said, “Come here,” and Richie did.</p><p>*</p><p>“No way,” he breathes, blinking away thoughts of Mike and thoughts from before. He feels his own cock twitch in his hands and hopes Eddie doesn’t notice. He wants to take all of Eddie’s cock down his throat. He’s not sure he could, but he wants to try. Fuck. </p><p>Eddie stands, shorts falling fully to the floor. He steps out of them like it’s nothing, like it’s not weird that he’s standing around with his dick out, tshirt and socks still on like some fucked up, perverted Winnie the Pooh. The stately cock attached to the boy Richie loves bobs, heavy and thick, in the air. “Come here,” Eddie orders. He squares his shoulders and gestures to the floor next to him. Richie sucks in a breath so hard he coughs, lungs full of wet hot spit, suddenly. </p><p>“— what?!” Richie blanches, pounding his chest with one closed fist and shielding his cock with the other. </p><p>Eddie flounders for a second before saying, voice stilted, “To compare them side-by-side?”</p><p>“Oh,” Richie says. He slides off the desk, jeans pooled around his ankles. He can’t step out of them because his white sneakers are in the way and he’s afraid that taking off his shoes to take off his pants will tell Eddie how into this he is, that it isn’t just about measuring dicks. Eddie is so much bigger than he ever imagined. He is slowly coming to grips with it. His cock gets hotter the longer he thinks about it. </p><p>“Yeah, sure.” There’s something about Eddie, standing proudly, half a head shorter but with his chest out that drives Richie wild. He’s so strong, with his sweet little tits outlined in his white shirt. There’s a little Dorito dust from where one fell earlier. Richie licks his lips and shuffles over next to Eddie. When they’re standing side-by-side, Richie straightens his spine and squares his shoulders like Eddie. </p><p>Eddie’s dick is, undeniably, bigger. Richie knew that, knows that, but now he really knows. He really knows and he’s staring down at it in a way he knows is creepy, and he knows makes him look gay (he is, he is gay. God, he is so gay) but he can’t stop. Eddie’s warm heat is so close, like Richie can reach out and just touch him, like it’s a possibility. He’s so much smaller than Richie, and as much as Richie wants his guts rearranged, he also wants the guts in his heart to get fucked too. He wants to tuck Eddie’s head under his chin and wrap one arm fully across his back with arm to spare. </p><p>Richie takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to say… something, anything, because the tension building up in the base of his spine hurts. Eddie beats him to the punch and says, “Maybe we should be on our knees? So we’re closer to the same height?” He’s blushing, a deeper red than before. Richie swallows around what he wants to say. Which is, take off your shirt. </p><p>Getting to his knees is a struggle with his pants around his ankles like they are and he curses when they hit the tile floor. Eddie is more graceful, folding his body down and landing lightly on his knees. When Richie glances back at him, he’s sitting on his calves like he was the night they met, socks still high up on his shins. Richie bites back a groan, covering it up with a cough.</p><p>“Here.” Eddie shuffles closer so they’re kneeling side by side, their dicks are, in fact, at more or less the same height this way. Richie is still speechless at how beautiful Eddie’s cock is. </p><p>“Well,” Eddie says, annoyed. “Do you want me to get a fucking ruler?” </p><p>“What?” Richie blinks and tears his eyes away from Eddie dick and makes the mistake of looking into his eyes. They are big, so big, and on the floor Richie has a treasured memory of him before, eyes looking up at him with the same determination, the same insatiable drive that is unique to Eddie. Like he wants to win so badly that he’s angry about it. </p><p>Eddie furrows his brow and shakes his head like he can’t believe he has to deal with this idiot and says, “Admit that my dick is bigger than yours!” </p><p>“Oh,” Richie has once again forgotten what all of this was for. He turns, in theory to congratulate Eddie on his massive cock, only to smack his dick fully against Eddie’s. The contact is searing, punching Richie in the kidney and he vaults forward, causing his cock to slide down the silky skin of Eddie’s dick. </p><p>Eddie’s hand comes up and grips Richie’s shoulder. His fingers dig into the muscle there and he hisses like a feral street cat. </p><p>“Sorry!” Richie says frantically, trying to back up. Eddie holds strong though, fingers locked in place. </p><p>He makes eye contact, heavy enough for Richie’s toes to curl. He sucks in a painful breath, and then Eddie says, “Do it again.” </p><p>It’s not up for negotiation, but Richie doesn’t need to be told twice. He pivots his hips and wields his cock like an unsexy sexy weapon, bringing their dicks together again. This time, Eddie bucks his hips too and they clash and slide up together at the same time before falling away. </p><p>Richie has no idea what to do with his hands. He hadn’t known what to do with them last time either really. He just did what Eddie told him to do because he’d wanted to win for Eddie, he’d been so desperate to win for Eddie. Eddie had taken his hands off Richie’s groin, where they had been resting, and physically lifted Richie’s hands up, until the beer was level in the bottles. He’d said sternly, “I do not want to lose.” </p><p>*</p><p>They hadn’t. They hadn’t lost and Eddie was so proud of Richie when he’d won. He’d told Bev, when they’d rejoined the party after their trip to the bathroom, “He’s going to win!” Sure as anything. </p><p>“What do I win, again?” Richie had asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his empty bottle wrist. One down, one to go. He’d grinned at Eddie, down at him, and laughed at the wrinkle that appeared on his forehead. </p><p>“I won’t put my foot up your ass,” Eddie had told him, and Richie laughed even louder. </p><p>When Richie had finished his beer, both beers, Eddie had climbed on a nearby side table and cupped his hands around his mouth, knees and elbow bent. “This guy just finished the fortyhands challenge!” Eddie had bellowed, surprising Richie with its sheer volume. </p><p>Party goers had stopped dancing, stopped talking, stopped drinking and turned to stare at Eddie, who’d pointed down at Richie, beaming from ear to ear. A couple of people had whooped and hollered and Richie had basked in the praise. </p><p>“Hey, get these fucking things off me!” He’d shouted, shaking his hands. Bev and the friends she had collected while they were away (Eddie’s roommate, Bill, and the lovely Ben) chortle. Bill had reached out to pick at the tape off with his blunt fingernails, but Eddie had jumped down off the table and pinched the tape off himself. Bev had pulled Bill back into their corner by the back of his shirt. </p><p>Eddie had ripped at the tape hard, pulling and pulling, until there had been a sticky, sweaty ball of tape in his hand and Richie’s first beer bottle had dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Eddie had stuck the tape ball to the fabric of Richie’s shirt before he’d started working on the second hand. Richie had flexed the first and been startled by how wet it felt, his palms pruned like he had been in the bath. </p><p>The second bottle had crashed into the first but hadn’t broken. Eddie had slapped that second  tape wad next to the first on Richie’s chest. The skin on his wrists had tingled where Eddie ripped the hairs out. </p><p>“We’re going to be best friends,” he’d told Eddie, because he’d been drunker than he’d ever been in his life and he felt it in his bones. Under his skin had vibrated, from the top of his scalp to the tips of his toes.</p><p>*</p><p>This time though, he’s competing with Eddie, but he isn’t sure what the rules are. He doesn’t know this game and Eddie isn’t sharing the rule book. </p><p>Their cocks slip and slide against each other, coated in their precome from jacking it earlier. Their skin catches and Eddie’s violent momentum has their groins pressed together, cocks trapped and leaking all over their shirts. </p><p>Richie wonders, as he’s greedily breathing in the nacho cheese flavored air Eddie exhales, if this isn’t gay because they aren’t holding each other’s dicks. If he were to reach down and hold Eddie’s miraculous cock in his hands, if that would make this gay. </p><p>Eddie’s not gay, he told Richie he wasn’t. Richie closes his eyes and tries to spread his legs out for better leverage, to thrust his cock against Eddie’s better, more effectively, but he can only spread his knees so far apart before the jeans around his ankles get in the way. </p><p>He exhales wetly between them and tells Eddie to, “Hold on, hold on,” while he falls back on his ass and hurriedly unlaces his shoes. This isn’t gay, surely, even though he thought Eddie might think so before. It’s for the game, he can play it off. Eddie strokes his cock, thumb catching over the head and dragging precome down his shaft. He is glistening in the dying golden daylight coming in through the window. His pubic hair is shiny with pearls of Richie’s precome where his drooling cock made contact with Eddie’s abundant bush. </p><p>Eddie’s pubic hair looks like a great big bushy beard, and Richie is suddenly reminded of the frat guy he’d played beer pong with the night he met Eddie. </p><p>*</p><p>He’d been playing beer pong with a fully grown man sporting a beard Richie had wanted to shove his face into. He hadn’t really been able to focus on the game though because he’d caught sight of Eddie across the room. Eddie, who had been wearing the shortest shorts Richie had seen since Tom Cruise in , a movie he had definitely been too young to watch when he did. Eddie, who had been and still is of average height, but demands space and grabs attention like someone much shorter and embarrassed about it. </p><p>Richie had dropped his ping pong ball, hadn’t noticed it bouncing across the table and dropping uselessly to the floor. Behind him, his beer pong partner had groaned, but Richie had been busy. He had been busy looking at Eddie, who had stood across the room, propped up against a wall, legs crossed at the ankle. His shorts had been high waisted and caramel colored. After he’d blinked and adjusted his glasses, Richie had seen that they were corduroy and had thought they were probably soft to the touch. </p><p>Tucked into his shorts had been a white tshirt, three sizes too large at least, with dark geometric patterns all over the front. He’d been wearing black Keds, like a girl, with black socks pulled high up on his shins. Richie’s whole mouth had gone dry, and he’d stumbled away from the long fold out table holding the game. He’d called out an apology to his partner over his shoulder. </p><p>“Fuck you!” his partner had shouted at his retreating back, sounding genuinely angry. Normally, Richie would feel sick over that, feel the rumble of being so readily dismissed deep in his gut, but he’d already forgotten it by the time he was bumping into people and apologizing for it, crossing the room to get to the boy leaning his shoulder against the wall. His arms had been crossed over his narrow chest. </p><p>The closer Richie had  gotten to the hot boy, the higher the definition of him became. He could see muscle flexing in his crossed arms, and saw his strong legs under his shorts. His hair had been soft looking and perfectly styled. His nose had been cute. He had been cute. Not just a pair of legs, but the whole package. Richie had wanted to pick him up and carry him around like a lady with a large tote bag. </p><p>*</p><p>Here and now, Eddie is still wearing his white shirt and Richie can see his hard nipples through the fabric. He wants to rub them with his thumbs, lick at them with his tongue. Looking at them makes him feel queasy, so he focuses on ditching his pants and scrambling back up on his knees. </p><p>Eddie immediately slots his cock alongside Richie’s and pulls back slowly, sending banshees screaming up Richie’s insides, absolutely wailing with horny despair. He tosses his head back before he can stop himself and covers his mouth with his fist to keep from letting the primal grunt that wants to tear its way out of his throat. When he feels brave enough to look back at Eddie, his eyes are hot, compelling. Richie fires back, giving just as good as he got, thrusting his cock forward into a delicious slide that ends with his dick under Eddie’s shirt, wetting it with the head of his cock. </p><p>Eddie loops his arm around Richie’s neck and his brain stops working entirely. He tosses his arms awkwardly around Eddie’s waist while Eddie squeezes his other hand between their bodies and holds his cock and Richie’s in his fist. </p><p>Richie can’t tear his eyes off the sight of their cocks, heads pressed together and soaking Eddie’s fingers. He thrusts his hips forward instead of up, desperate and hard, rocking them both back, pushing Eddie’s body until his ass touches the tops of his socks. Richie tightens his hold of Eddie’s sides and opens his mouth to apologize. A whimper spills out instead, small and bitten off at the end. Almost a squeak. </p><p>“Fuck,” Eddie breaths, swiping his thumb over their heads and dragging their combined precome down both of their cocks, skin catching on skin, hot and hard and smooth. “Fuck, you’re still so <i>quiet</i>.” </p><p>Richie blushes and thrusts again, shallow this time, more controlled, up into Eddie’s fist. It almost isn’t big enough to hold them both. Richie thinks, blearily, that maybe this isn’t gay because Eddie is the one jerking him off and Eddie is straight. His thoughts are slippery like a water wiggler and he can’t hold on to any one for long enough to finish it. </p><p>Like, Eddie remembers. Eddie thinks about. Eddie Eddie Eddie. Eddie thinks about. He thinks about when Richie walked forward, there in the bathroom of that frat house, his hands trapped and his dick out. The way he’d stopped in front of Eddie, his mind stuck in that moment at the end of a VHS tape when the machine screams and the television fuzzes out. He hadn’t had time to look down at Eddie because he’d grabbed Richie’s tshirt and spun his body, slamming him against the door. Beer had sloshed but didn’t spill out. He’d been almost done with the challenge. </p><p>*</p><p>Eddie had dropped down on his knees, the corduroy fabric riding up his thighs, exposing more of his pale skin. Richie had wanted to bite it, rub his face on it. He still does, looking at Eddie’s naked thighs now, under their cocks, brushing against Richie’s own with each thrust up into their closed fists. Eddie from back then had pushed his hips back, had taken Richie’s cock in his hand, at the base. His other hand had clutched in the thin cotton of Richie’s boxers. </p><p>He’d looked up at Richie, made direct eye contact, and raised an eyebrow. He’d flicked his eyes down to Richie’s dick and then back to his eyes. Richie had nodded. God, he’d almost broken his neck, nodding so fast. Eddie’s hand had fisted the fabric of his boxers tighter, pulling the cotton taut against Richie’s ass. He’d used it to bring Richie’s hips forward, trailing his hand from the base of his cock to the tip. He hadn’t been fully hard, but he’d been working up to it since he saw Eddie from across the room, looking cute in his shorts with his cheeks flushed. </p><p>*</p><p>In the here and now, Eddie’s pinkie overlaps Richie’s pointer finger, slotting between it and his middle, almost like they’re holding hands. It sends a thrill up Richie’s arm that settles in his chest and yawns open, unfurling into something that screams with want and need and loneliness. </p><p>Richie chokes back a sob, sucking in a noisy breath. He glances away from their cocks and looks at Eddie’s face, his lips, open and panting. There’s a flush high on his cheeks and Richie is so close he could count every freckle if he wanted, even under the blush. He does want to. He wants and wants and wants Eddie, all of Eddie, all the time. Richie licks his lips and wants to kiss Eddie’s mouth, his neck, his heaving chest. He doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t, but he thinks about the night they met again, eyes squeezing shut. </p><p>*</p><p>Eddie had taken his hand away and spit in it before gripping Richie’s cock loosely. He’d put the tip of it in his mouth, using the spit lubed hand to jack it to full hardness. Slowly, he’d taken more and more and more into his mouth. Richie could feel him swallow, could feel him hollow out his cheeks. It had been wet and hot and he’d curled his toes in his shoes, head slamming back into the door and rattling the wood in its hinges. </p><p>*</p><p>“Fuck,” Richie groans and can’t look at Eddie anymore. He can’t look at his cheeks or his hair or his massive cock for one more moment so he slams his face into Eddie’s neck, in the space between it and his shoulders and doesn’t think, can’t think of anything except the slick sick push pull of their cocks against each other. The endless pit in Richie’s stomach clenches and shouts. Each exhale of breath comes back at him and fogs his glasses. They must be uncomfortable, pressing into Eddie’s skin like they are, but he doesn’t say anything about it. </p><p>He does run his mouth though, like he always does. Richie loves it, like he always does. </p><p>“Rich,” Eddie breathes. “Yeah, just like that. Just like that, squeeze your hand-- yeah, fuck. You feel-- fuck you, fuck you.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Richie says into Eddie’s throat, lips brushing the vein in his neck, throbbing with thick hot blood. “Fuck me.” Eddie moves the arm around Richie’s neck so he’s grabbing at Richie’s hair, fisting the strands at the back of his skull hard.  </p><p>“You weren’t-- ah.” Richie feels himself leak all over Eddie’s cock. He points out, “So chatty last time.”</p><p>Eddie hums, maybe in agreement, and pulls harder on Richie’s hair at the same moment he rubs his thumb against the slit in Richie’s cock. </p><p>A moan that starts in Richie’s toes and builds momentum on its roll up through his body gets muffled in the cotton of Eddie’s tshirt. He doesn’t mean to, but he rocks forward on his knees and pushes Eddie back onto his shins again. </p><p>*</p><p>Eddie had done that the night they met too; sat back on his shins. He’d taken his mouth off of Richie and looked up at him balefully, in the way Richie would grow to covet and treasure, sat back on his shins. He’d kept his hand moving, squelching sounds rang in Richie’s ears. He’d moved to put his hands in Eddie’s hair, but stopped when he’d remembered the bottles on his hands, hovering in the air. The strain of keeping them upright and the aching wrongness of not being allowed to grip or hold or jerk, had been sweet. It had been a sweetness swimming in his blood, turning his lungs into candy floss and his limbs into taffy. It’d been so good, it had felt so good to be that helpless.</p><p>*</p><p>He doesn’t have that problem now though, and he moves his arm up Eddie’s back and fists the short hairs at the top of Eddie’s neck. He keeps his hair cut short, so there isn’t much to grab and he ends up holding the back of Eddie’s neck like a misbehaving cat. Eddie groans and tips his head back. Richie looks up at the expanse of his neck and he buries his nose in the sweaty skin. He smells so good and Richie remembers when Eddie had sunk his mouth back down on Richie’s cock. He’d groaned the same way he groans now, back then.  </p><p>*</p><p>Eddie had made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat that radiated up Richie’s cock and up up up his spine, spreading down his arms. His fingers had dug into the glass bottles, sweat building under the tape. Eddie had moved his lips, sucking on his way off. He’d held Richie’s cock and licked a stripe up the side.</p><p>Richie remembers panicking, he remembers loving it so much and panicking that Eddie could tell, would be able tell that he’s gay. He remembers saying, “Wait, Eddie! Eddie! Are you,” he’d swallowed hard, watching Eddie’s head move back and forth over his cock, mouthing along the side. He’d looked like he’d been eating corn on the cob. Richie had wanted to make a joke about salt, about street corn, about chowder, but blind panic had eaten away at him, gumming up his throat. Richie’d swallowed again and said, “You know, are you gay?” </p><p>Eddie had sighed at him, pressing against Richie and pushing him into the door. He’d said, “Shut the fuck up! You’re so stupid, of course I’m not gay. This isn’t gay because we’re both straight.” Then he’d mouthed at the vein along the side of Richie’s cock. He’d smirked when it jumped under his mouth. Eddie had called him, “Dumbass,” but it was fond. </p><p>*</p><p>It’s fond now when Eddie says, “You’re ridiculous, this is ridiculous. Fuck, Richie, your cock.” </p><p>Richie preens and thrusts up, scraping their cocks together, heads slipping and catching. The pleasant feeling growing in his guts sours when he thinks about how Eddie is straight, that this is just a game he still isn’t sure he understands the rules of. His thoughts slip in and out of his mind, twisting and turning on each other like eels. A flash of sadness, a dash of disappointment, a touch of pleasure. </p><p>Maybe he would know the rules if he was straight. He’s disappointed in himself, in Eddie, in the universe and the world and the concept of games in the first place. Years ago, another time when Eddie was on his knees in front of Richie, he’d thought, oh. Okay. He’d nodded and opened his mouth to respond to Eddie’s declaration of his and Richie’s heterosexuality, but whatever he’d planned on saying flew out of his mind when Eddie had swallowed his cock back down. </p><p>It happens again, now. Everytime Richie thinks he’s going to spill the beans and out himself by doing something crazy like sucking a bruise into the column of Eddie’s throat, Eddie distracts him with a flick of his wrist, or a litany of praise for the way Richie is holding his cock against Eddie’s.</p><p>“Fuck,” Richie breathes. Pressure builds in his groin, in his shoulders, prickles at the backs of his thighs. He thinks he’s going to blow. His breathing is ragged, stuttered, hot against Eddie’s skin. “Eddie, I-- I’m gunna,” he says. </p><p>“Fuck you, no you aren’t!” Eddie moans. It sounds so loud in Richie’s ears. </p><p>“Fuck you,” Eddie says again, and yanks Richie’s head back by his hair and kisses his mouth, a sweet press of lips on lips that feels insane and wildly incongruous with the way Eddie squeezes his hand over the heads of their cocks, drawing a harsh grunt from his own throat that Richie takes and takes and takes into his own, opening his mouth and drawing it inside himself. </p><p>*</p><p>The night they met, Eddie had jacked what he couldn't fit into his mouth and reached his hand through the hole in Richie’s boxers to rub at his balls. Richie’s hands had been bound and he’d been trapped. Even if he’d wanted it to stop, he wouldn't have been able to, he really really wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have been able to stop it without hurting Eddie, without losing the game. </p><p>Eddie had wanted to win. Richie had wanted to win for him. </p><p>*</p><p>Today, Richie still wants Eddie to win. He has a sneaking suspicion, an idea that comes and goes from his mind, that he wins anyway, if Eddie does. </p><p>His hands aren’t bound now, he isn’t restrained and he can do what he wants. He can’t worry about being gay, it’s holding him back from this, from helping Eddie win, so he moves his hand from their cocks and brings it up to his mouth, between his face and Eddie’s, and shoves his fingers in, reaching the tips back to collect the thick drool in his throat. Eddie’s looking at him like he’s never seen him before, like he’s something made from magic. </p><p>When he draws his fingers out, spit follows, sticking to his fingers and his lips. Eddie kisses him again, fast and hard, tongue licking along the seam of his lips and replacing Richie’s spit with his own. He tastes like Doritos. Richie tries not to let it distract him from his mission, sticky fingers reaching down between their bodies and rubbing against Eddie’s balls, the way Eddie had done for him years ago. </p><p>He’s white hot, he’s on fire, frenzied and panting desperately. He’s going to come. He shudders when Eddie thrusts up into his own fist, pulling at the skin of Richie’s cock. He aches, his whole body shaking. He needs to come, he wants to come. He wants Eddie to get there first. Last time, he didn’t get to at all. </p><p>Richie remembers that night with his ass against the bathroom door, he’d never done that before, he’d never had anyone else on his cock before Eddie. He’d been glad it was Eddie, he’d been so glad it’d been Eddie because when he’d looked down, Eddie had been looking back at him with huge brown eyes and he’d been beautiful. Richie had come without warning. </p><p>*</p><p>The warm, fuzzy feeling that had come with his release hadn’t lasted long. “What the <i>fuck!</i>” Eddie’d cursed, falling back on his ass, hand covering his mouth. He’d scrambled up and spat Richie’s come out in the sink next to the toothpaste scum. </p><p>“Sorry, sorry!” Richie had moved, bent at the waist, and covered his dick with one of the bottles. Eddie had rinsed his mouth and the sink, spitting again down the drain. </p><p>“Do you want…” Richie’d trailed off, looking at Eddie hunched over the counter. </p><p>Eddie had stood and straightened his shirt and his shorts, tugging at the hems. He’d glanced at Richie, incredulous, and scoffed before slapping his beer hand out of the way to tuck his cock back into his underwear. He’d pulled up Richie’s pants, zipped and buttoned them, and then he’d patted his hip. </p><p>“There you go, son. All tucked in.” </p><p>Richie remembers blinking and laughing, unable to control his hiccuping guffaw. Eddie had smirked and didn't bother to try and hide it, seemingly proud of the laugh he’d pulled from Richie. </p><p>*</p><p>Now, Richie rolls Eddie’s balls in his hand. The slippery thoughts roiling in his mind, splashing around his skull until one catches and explodes behind his eyes like cartoon stars; he’s taking advantage of Eddie, of straight Eddie, who doesn’t know he’s gay. He’s a terrible friend and a bad person, he’s a monster. Eddie leans over, eyes closed and mouth close. </p><p>“Eddie,” he stutters, dodging his kiss. “Eddie, I’m--” </p><p>Eddie doesn’t pause in his ministrations, thumb running over the heads of their cocks over and over and over again. Richie tries not to cry when he says, “I’m gay, I’m sorry! I’m gay!” </p><p>“No shit, Sherlock,” Eddie breaths, then kisses him again, holding his head still with his fist in his hair. His mouth is hot on Richie’s and even though it’s the third time they’ve kissed, it’s still surprising and feels like the first time. </p><p>“Eddie,” Richie says, imploring and needy. He’s rubbing Eddie’s balls again, pubic hair tickling his knuckles and the pads of his fingers. </p><p>“I’m gay too, shut up about it!” Eddie pulls on Richie’s hair again, which doesn’t exactly distract Richie from the new reality he’s been thrust into. He’s gay, Eddie is gay. Eddie has always been gay, even that night when he sucked Richie’s entire brain out through his dick in the moldy bathroom at a mediocre house party hosted by a frat Richie would later learn to stay away from because it’s full of truck driving racist, homophobic knuckle daggers. </p><p>“Fuck.” Richie licks into Eddie’s mouth because they’re in this now, and he doesn’t have it in him to think about how Eddie isn’t playing along with some stupid game. There is no stupid game. There is no game, there never was a game. Richie can’t fathom it, can’t wrap his wiggly wet jello brain around it. He whimpers when Eddie bites at his lips and responds by tugging on his balls and thrusting their cocks together again. </p><p>Eddie comes, spilling up over his own hand and up between their bodies. Richie feels it soak into his tshirt, dripping and dripping. He looks down between their bodies, at Eddie’s twitching legs, his skin all red and sweat slick. He takes his hand off Eddie’s balls and uses it to pry Eddie’s hand off of their cocks, Eddie’s still jerking, the last pitiful spurts of come dribbling out of his slit. Richie collects those in his empty hand, squeezes the one on the back of Eddie’s neck. He jerks himself, like he did earlier, sitting on Eddie’s desk. </p><p>“Richie, goddamn,” Eddie swears, sliding his newly free hand next to the one already in Richie’s hair. He feels some of Eddie’s come on his scalp, falling from Eddie’s hand and into his hair. He is covered, so covered, in Eddie’s come. He wishes he were drowning in it. He wants it in his lungs. He wants it in his eyes. He wants it everywhere. Richie whines and Eddie chants, “Yeah, yeah come on. Come on, Richie.” </p><p>God. Fuck. Fuck. Richie exhales raggedly, looking at Eddie through his wrecked glasses, the harder edges of him smudged. Fuck, he wants-- “Let me see your feet,” he hears himself say. He’s past mortification, past worrying about how he looks, how he comes across. At least with Eddie, who has a hundred things to answer for himself. </p><p>Eddie furrows his brow, confused. Richie pushes on his shoulder. “Okay, okay,” Eddie says, falling back on his ass, legs coming out from under his body. His socked feet land against Richie’s legs and the textured brush of cotton against his thighs literally knocks him back until he’s sitting on his legs, giving himself enough room to just <i>look</i>. </p><p>“What the fuck, Richie,” Eddie says, not bothering to hide his confusion. </p><p>Richie swallows hard and opens his mouth to respond but lets out a loud, wall shaking moan instead when Eddie scoots forward, closer to Richie, and caresses his aching, throbbing cock with one of his feet. His big toe trails from the base of Richie’s cock to its head, skating over Richie’s own fingers. The arch of his foot rubs over the head, fibers from Eddie’s sock soaking in the precome leaking from Richie’s poor cock. </p><p>“Whoa,” Eddie says, voice low and slow and awestruck. “Christ, <i>Richie</i>.” </p><p>Instead of replying, Richie rolls his eyes into the back of his head. A full body shiver is the only real warning he has before he blows, coming with a crack in his fevered need, emptying out all over Eddie’s foot and the floor. </p><p>“You’re so-- God, Richie, you’re so hot,” Eddie rambles. Richie doesn’t notice him sitting back up, but the next thing he knows, he’s being bowled over and knocked to the floor. Eddie is heavy on his still heaving chest. </p><p>“Eddie, fuck,” he wheezes, “Are your bones made of bricks?” </p><p>“Yes, I’m made of bricks and you’ve got glass bones and paper skin.” Eddie rolls his eyes, the blush on his cheeks fading away. His freckles peak out and Richie loves them. He wants to kiss them. He isn’t sure if he’s allowed to. Richie clears his throat and tries to look away, back up at the dick on the ceiling. Eddie tuts and grabs a hold of Richie’s chin. </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie says, looking at Richie with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. “What are you thinking?”</p><p>Richie doesn’t want to cry, but something dark is settling over his limbs. “You said you were straight,” he starts to say, but stops when Eddie nuzzles his nose against Richie’s neck, behind his ear. When was the last time Richie washed behind there? Does it matter, when Eddie’s come is drying in his hair? </p><p>“I liked you,” Eddie says. “I like you. I didn’t want you to call me a slur and leave.” </p><p>“Eddie,” Richie sounds more upset than he really feels. He wants to look straight. He should be glad his disguise worked. But they could have been doing <i>this</i> for years instead of whatever, being friends. </p><p>Richie grimaces at his own thoughts. He’s loved being Eddie’s friend. Being Eddie’s friend let him love Eddie, let him know Eddie better than a drunken hook up ever could and-- Richie isn’t sure he would give that up, even if loving Eddie from the safety and comfort of his own mind did make him weird, make him want to do things like stealing the jizz stained tissues out of his friend’s trash. </p><p>He thinks maybe it would be okay now, for him to do that. Eddie still has a hold of his chin and he can’t move his face, so he glances over at Eddie’s full wastebasket with his eyes. </p><p>Eddie turns to see what he’s looking at and colors red again when he sees. “Stop looking at my trash!” </p><p>“I want to steal your jizz tissues,” Richie tells him, grinning like a wolf. Eddie emits a strangled sound that vibrates through him. Richie can feel it in his own chest. </p><p>“Be my fucking guest, but I did blow my nose in those.” Richie’s face falls and Eddie cackles, head thrown back. </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie says, when he’s settled down. He takes his hand off of Richie’s chin and brings it up to stoke at his cheek under his glasses. Richie blushes under his fingers. He brings his hand up to brush his own fingers against Eddie’s wrist. He never wants him to stop. Eddie continues, “I’m sorry I lied to you. I honestly thought you knew. I haven’t really been hiding it.” </p><p>Richie smacks himself in the face, making Eddie giggle. “That guy from my Psych class last year!” </p><p>He’d been so elated when he walked out of his lecture hall and Eddie had been leaning against the far wall, looking for all the world like he had that night they met, and then devastated when he’d waved at Richie, but grabbed the crook of some other guy’s elbow. They’d spoken in hushed tones before walking away.  </p><p>“Yeah, the tall, lanky one? With dark hair and glasses? So weird that I wanted to fuck that guy.” Eddie says through another laugh. Was he trying to make Richie jealous? It had worked. Richie blinks it away because he doesn’t even remember that guy’s name, but he’s still here with Eddie. Where is that guy? Who fucking cares.</p><p>Eddie settles so he’s resting with his chin on Richie’s chest, looking up at him through his lashes. They’re still bare assed, but Richie can’t find it in him to care when he wraps his legs around Eddie’s, rubbing their leg hair together and relishing in the weird pull and catch of it. </p><p>“Sarcasm becomes you, good sir,” Richie jokes. He lets the laughter settle before he says, “I like you, too.” It’s not as scary to say that, that he likes Eddie and not that he loves him. Maybe someday he’ll say it all. </p><p>Eddie’s little smile, the way he tucks his face against Richie’s chest to hide it, makes Richie’s fingers tingle. The moment is beautiful and feels like something out of a movie, with the rapidly setting sun casting dark shadows in Eddie’s dorm room. Richie loves it, adores it. It makes him itchy. </p><p>“God, I can’t believe how fucking big your cock is. What the fuck, Eddie?” Richie says to ruin it. He’s laughing and Eddie is laughing and it’s good in a different way. Eddie wiggles his thick eyebrows at him and dissolves into the cutest giggles. </p><p>“Thank you for acknowledging how much bigger I am than you,” Eddie says, faux serious, poking Richie’s check. There’s dried come on his fingers and even Richie thinks that’s kind of gross, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to suck it off. </p><p>“I mean, your cock sure, but the rest of you is itty bitty.” Richie places his hands on either side of Eddie’s waist and squeezes. His hands don’t touch, aren’t even close to touching, because Eddie is average sized and strong as hell, but Richie makes his point and revels in the way Eddie scowls at him in response. Fuck, he is so in love and he just came his brains out. Nothing in the world could ruin this moment for him. </p><p>There’s a shuffle outside of the door, a key ring jingling in someone’s hand. Bill, probably. Eddie goes stock still on top of him. </p><p>*</p><p>When they’d been in that bathroom, recovering from Richie’s sudden explosive ejaculation, they’d both startled when someone banged on the door that had been holding Richie up. </p><p>“Did you fall in?” Mike had called through the door. He’d been maybe five inches away from Richie, through the door, but it felt like a hundred miles. Richie’s brain had been full of television static and bumblebees. The static cut out and the bees died off when he saw Eddie, the way he’d looked scared, naked fear flashing over his face, lips pursed like they do when he’s annoyed but worse. Off. </p><p>*</p><p>He looks a little like that now, panicked behind the eyes. “Does Bill know?” Richie hisses, reaching across the floor for Eddie’s shorts and dumping Eddie’s stiff body in the process. He hands Eddie his shorts as the key jingling continues out in the hallway. Like Mike years before, Bill is so close, but so far away. The walls are closing in. </p><p>“About me, yeah,” Eddie says, slamming his legs through his shorts and pulling them violently up his body. He looks down at his socks and wrinkles his nose at the come drying there. He hooks one finger under the edge and peels one off, then the other. He tosses them in his laundry pile. He’s frantically rubbing at the come on the floor with his toes to buff it off the tile. It isn’t working, would have worked better if he’d kept his socks on, and Eddie lets out a small, irritated noise from the back of his throat. Fuck, Richie can’t even appreciate Eddie’s naked ankles because he’s too busy trying to get his underwear and his jeans up his legs at the same time, feet up in the air, wriggling around on his back. </p><p>*</p><p>Back at that party, Richie had hooked the top of his foot around Eddie’s shin to grab his attention. “It’s not gay, right? That’s what you said.” </p><p>“Fuck no, it’s not gay,” Eddie had said, stepping out of the hold Richie had on his leg. “It’s only gay if we’re gay, and we’re not gay!”</p><p>Richie hadn’t thought that through, any of it, but when he’d looked at Eddie, with his soft rumpled hair and the furious flush against his cheeks, he remembers wishing they’d kissed. Richie had never been kissed before, not from a boy, not in any way that mattered. Hot shame had spread in his chest, licked up his throat. He’d wished they had kissed and he’d wished he could have touched Eddie, rubbed at him through his shorts, crawled inside of him.</p><p>Then, he’d swallowed and hadn’t looked at Eddie when he’d said, “Let’s go win this thing!” </p><p>He’d spun, in a rush to leave the bathroom, but had to wait for Eddie to reach around him and open the door, his forearm slipping against Richie’s. It shouldn’t have sent a shock up his arm, after the blowjob, after everything, but it had. It still does. </p><p>*</p><p>Every touch from Eddie feels like fire up his spine that goes straight to his dick but also to his throbbing heart. He thinks that now, while Eddie frantically tries to help him button his jeans, fingers brushing together, his knuckles scraping his belly under his shirt. He gave up on the come on the floor.</p><p>A key slides into the lock, Richie can hear it turn. </p><p>*</p><p>Richie thinks back to the shame, the way that, when Eddie had thrown open the door, Mike had been frowning on the other side and Richie had convinced himself it was for what they had just done and not just that he’d been waiting to piss for so long. </p><p>“Sorry,” Richie had said reflexively. He’d blinked and smiled and said, “We were ah, doing— drugs.” </p><p>He doesn’t want to do this again. </p><p>*</p><p>“I don’t care if Bill knows,” Richie says. The universe cracks and then mends itself back together. </p><p>“You don’t?” Eddie pauses, holding Richie’s belt buckle in one hand and the fake leather tail in the other. Richie shakes his head. He looks into Eddie’s dark eyes and the fear is gone. </p><p>It had been for him, the fear that had been there before. Richie loves his guy. He really, really does. He can’t help himself when he surges forward and smashes his mouth against Eddie’s, licking behind his teeth and pulling their chests together. He flings his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and Eddie puts his hands in Richie’s hair again. </p><p>The door squeaks open and Bill Denbrough falls into the room, yanking his key out of the lock. </p><p>“What the fuck, Eddie? Again!?” Bill groans, rushing to shut the door behind him. Eddie laughs at him and into Richie’s open mouth. He bites down hard on Richie’s lip. </p><p>Maybe Richie isn’t the only one who knows that Eddie Kaspbrak is an absolute nightmare person after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to Laser for reading this, for giving me notes, and for being a truly never ending well of inspiration. Thank you to the server and to the Big Dick Eddie Rights group chat. Thank you to the amateur pornographers who taught me the meaning of "sword fight." Thank you, lastly, to past perfect tense. Fuck you.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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